Harry Potter and the Ties of Allegiance
by DarkNashi
Summary: ON HOLD - Harry's tired of it all. Tired of being Dumbledore's pawn, tired of the war with Voldemort, and tired of not being loved. Stumbling upon a magic that blurs the line between light and dark Harry strives for his freedom. Darkish!Harry.
1. Chateau Dursley

**Harry Potter and the Ties of Allegiance**

By: _Nashi_

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter, or any of the characters in this story. They are the property and creation of JK Rowling, and I'm not gaining anything from writing this story. (Except the satisfaction of seeing these characters do what I want them to). I'm just a fan fic writer who craves reviews.

**Spoilers**: Order of the Phoenix for sure. I don't know if there will be any spoilers from any of the later books, but it's possible. Besides, you shouldn't be reading fan fics if you haven't finished the amazing series anyways.

**Pairings:** No pairings yet. There might be one later, but as of this moment I have no plans for one. However, knowing the way I like to write fan fiction (and with the lack of evil female characters), there will like be an m/m couple in the future. If that offends you… well, you just got your warning.

**Rating**: T, might change to M in later chapters.

**Author's Note**: I don't have a beta reader, so, I apologize if there are any mistakes. I'm fairly certain that I caught the large glaringly obvious ones on my own, but if there's something terribly wrong with my story please let me know (in a polite manner).And if you want to be a beta reader, do let me know. Flames will not be tolerated.

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Chapter 1

Chateau Dursely

Harry winced slightly, the reflexive sharp intake of breath somehow making him feel better as he pressed the cool cloth back against his swelling eye. Vernon had been easy on him tonight, thankfully, the walrus of a man had drank more liquor than he could handle, passing out before a full evening of 'fixing' Harry. It was Vernon's latest brilliant idea. If magic couldn't be forced out, suppressed out, or learned out of Harry, perhaps it could be beaten out.

With a grimace, Harry shook thoughts of his Uncle from his mind and took advantage for this rare chance to use the bathroom as he pleased. Vernon didn't like the idea of a Freak using his facilities to clean his filth. So, Harry rarely had an opportunity to attend to his hygiene. His hair, as a result was tangled and matted to his head, caked in blood from a meeting with the wall a few weeks prior, and slick with enough grease to make Snape jealous. His clothes were in a similar state of disrepair, blood and dirt stains covering him from head to toe, the hems tattered more so than Dudley's _street_ clothes. While he could have changed, Harry saw no need to ruin more than one outfit. It wasn't like Vernon was going to hesitate at drawing blood because Harry had a clean shirt.

Through it all, there was one thing that Harry was infinitely thankful for. His Uncle's complete and utter disgust of him. The man never touched Harry more than necessary, skin on skin contact being absolutely repulsive to him. Even at his most impressive levels of intoxication, Vernon would remember to wear a glove before beating Harry. When Harry had thought to hide Vernon's gloves he was introduced to his Uncle's work boots, and a wooden baseball bat he was given the task of later burning in the backyard. However, his Uncle's irrational repulsion stilled Harry's fears of rape, and for that slight peace of mind he was eternally grateful. Being trapped and violated under his Uncle wasn't high on Harry's list of things to do.

Physically, Harry was holding up well enough from his Uncle's beatings. At least, he thought so. His bed sheets were in tatters around his room, having used them as makeshift bandages for the worst of his wounds. With all the cuts and scrapes he had tended to lately, he looked remarkably like a mummy out of a low budget muggle film. Well, he thought he did. It was hard for him to properly diagnose his condition since Vernon broke his glasses two weeks ago. It was probably for the best that the lenses had finally shattered. Near the end of his spectacle's life, the hard wire frames were tearing into his face from the abuse that Vernon had put them through.

And where was Dumbledore through all this? Well, Harry had stopped asking himself that long ago. At first he simply figured that Dumbledore didn't know, which was fine by him. Harry didn't exactly want his mentor, headmaster, defeater of Grindiwald and leader of the Order of the Phoenix to know that he was being beaten by his muggle relatives. His family was supposed to love and care for him, and he was supposed to be the wizarding world's hero. It wouldn't do any good for the Daily Prophet to have the headline "Harry Potter – Beaten by Muggles".

Through, try as he might, Harry couldn't delude himself for very long. Of course Dumbledore knew what Harry was going through. After all, his first Hogwarts letter had been addressed to "the cupboard under the stairs." The old wizard had obviously known about Harry's situation since he was ten. Now, with Voldemort on the loose and his godfather dead, Harry was more than certain Dumbledore was keeping an eye on him now. He would have to be an idiot to not keep an eye on the wizarding world's golden boy during these dangerous times.

As Harry hastily wiped his body down with a face cloth, he couldn't help but wonder what he did to incur the old man's wrath. Perhaps it had something to do with his Father, no one seemed to have liked James Potter much, with the exception of Sirius and Reamus. Or, perhaps, Dumbledore had something to gain from leaving Harry here. If that were true than the old man was in for a surprise, as all he was accomplishing was making Harry despise muggles.

With a start, Harry dropped his washcloth to the floor as he was hit with a sudden realization. Dumbledore was trying to make him hate muggles! Though, that made no sense. Why on earth would the headmaster want him disliking muggles? The professor knew how afraid Harry was of becoming like Voldemort, so why have him stay with an abusive muggle family, especially while grieving the loss of his Godfather.

Fears of becoming a Dark Lord aside, why would Dumbledore force anyone to stay with an abusive family, muggle or not?

Fuming, Harry cursed to himself. How had he been so blind in the past? Dumbledore was obviously up to something, he just couldn't put his finger on what.

The soft patter of footsteps down the hallway snapped Harry out of his thoughts, and learned instinct sprang his body into action. His Aunt Petunia was quickly approaching, no doubt having just dragged Vernon to bed, and would not be happy to catch him here. Quickly, Harry tossed his things together, stuffing the soiled washcloth into his pant pocket. He took a second to clean the counter up as best he could, unable to see any smudges or smears he may have created without the help of his glasses. Doing the best he could, he bolted from the bathroom.

It was with practiced skill that Harry ignored the pain in his body and the wishes of his protesting muscles as he dashed across the hall. Nimbly he dashed from one sturdy floorboard to the next, crossing the hallway in a matter of seconds. Once within the sanctuary of his room, he went to work shutting the door. Turning the knob he lifted the door as much as he could, not wanting the uneven frame to drag across around, he shut it quietly. Satisfied, he slowly released the knob and felt, rather than heard, the satisfying click of the door closing properly under his touch.

The moment the door was closed Harry relaxed, knowing from years of experience that Petunia hadn't heard his wandering about. In his younger years, Harry had hoped that Petunia's maternal instincts would have kicked in and caused her to show some form of affection for him. However, as his innocence fell away, Harry realized that her maternal instincts were present in full force, and he was a wolf in her hen house. To her, he was a danger to her normal family, and if letting her husband beat him senseless could rectify that, so be it.

It took a moment for the pain to ease its way from his limbs, but the moment he could manage it, Harry pulled himself away from the wall he had slumped against for support. Hedwig was happy to see him standing, bobbing her snowy head at him in greeting and fluttering her wings to attract his attention. Since Vernon started beating Harry, the bright owl hadn't made a sound while in the Dursley's home for fear of drawing Vernon's wrath to Harry.

"So that's it then Freak!" Vernon had yelled that night. "Hitting you makes the turkey shut up then does it? Well," Vernon snickered, an excited gleam in his eye. "Let's shut her up for a good long time then, shall we?"

Harry forced the memory from his mind, instead, nodding a greeting to Hedwig. "I need you to do something for me girl." He whispered to his feathered friend. "I need you to deliver some letters, and I need you to be back by morning, back in your cage."

Hedwig bobbed her head at him, shifting her weight from foot to foot. Obviously, she was excited about getting out of the house and stretching her wings.

With a hairpin he had stolen from his Aunt, Harry went to work at the padlock Vernon had placed on Hedwig's cage. The first time he had picked the lock it had taken him hours, but now, his well practiced fingers, while sore and in come cases broken, worked quickly at the task. In minutes, Hedwig was perched on the window sill ready to go.

"I just need to write them girl." Harry cooed to her softly, running a digit through the snowy plumage on her chest. "If you're fast girl, we won't have to be here tomorrow night."


	2. Freedom

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter, or any of the characters in this story. They are the property and creation of JK Rowling, and I'm not gaining anything from writing this story. (Except the satisfaction of seeing these characters do what I want them to). I'm just a fan fic writer who craves reviews.

**A/N:** I don't know if any of you have read my first fic, "The Path of Slytherin" that I never finished. I had a pretty strong idea for that story, it just never got completed. So, if you see scenes or instances in this story that seem similar, I'm not stealing from anyone. That is my story.

By the way, I'm fairly certain that I got some of the names wrong in this chapter, but I haven't been able to cross check anything, as I'm in the middle of moving and my books are still packed away. I don't even have the internet as I'm writing this. So, posting this story is going to be the first thing I do upon getting hooked up with my new ISP. So, bear with me. Again, if anyone is/wants to be/knows of a beta reader, let me know thanks.

Henriette: Thanks for the review! I don't quite know where I'm going with this yet (and if I did I wouldn't give it all away!) but I have to admit, I am a huge sucker for Dark!Harry. I just don't know if that's how this Harry is thinking yet.

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Freedom

"Good girl Hedwig," Harry cooed softly to his friend as she came soaring through his bedroom window, perching herself on the corner of his dresser. That owl never ceased to amaze him. Honestly, he didn't expect her to be back for at least another few hours. He had even come up with a weak plan to keep Vernon out of his room until Hedwig had arrived, should she take until midday.

Bristling with excitement, Harry scooted over to the snowy owl and delicately took the letter from her leg. "I hope they did it Hedwig." He muttered as he worked at the finicky twine keeping the letter attached to Hedwig's leg. After a moment of working at it, he finally pulled the yellowed envelope free, Hedwig hooting happily and fluttering over to her cage. Harry took a second to grin at her as he tore through the envelope anxiously.

Inside, he found a rather formal looking letter.

_Mr. Harry James Potter_

_Thank you for using our owl withdrawal services. Should you care to make more transactions like this in the future, we require your presence at our main branch to set you up with a security plan that works for you. This will allow you to-_

Harry tossed the letter behind him. He didn't have time to go into Diagon Alley anytime soon, and at the moment, he didn't give a damn about the Gringotts withdrawal plans, as long as they sent him something now. Glancing back into the envelope, Harry breathed a sigh of relief. They had indeed sent him something.

He reached into the bag gingerly, almost as if he were afraid that the combination of notes and sickles would break under his touch. These were his ticket to freedom! He could leave this wretched house and move on with his life! For the first time in weeks, Harry Potted caught himself smiling. "Hedwig! You did it!" He laughed, still careful to keep his voice down. He wasn't home free yet.

"First things first." He whispered to himself. Over the past while he'd found that talking to himself helped ease his loneliness, not to mention, his throat didn't get raspy from under use.

He wasn't going to be able to bring his trunk with him, unfortunately. But Harry had determined hours ago that he couldn't afford to lug the thing around with him. At least, not quite yet. Once he was settled, he would acquire new things. He just couldn't take his entire trunk when he didn't even know where he was going.

So, as an alternative, he had run downstairs while Hedwig was out and snatched Dudley's schoolbag from the front porch. Looking at it now, the bag was good as new, as if it had never been used. Though, Harry supposed, it probably hadn't until now. Luckily, it was big enough for Harry to slip most of his things in, not that he owned very much. The photo album of his Mum and Dad, an extra change of clothes, his wand, a potions textbook and small cauldron, transfiguration textbook year five, and a few other personal items he'd thought he would need.

Thanks to Umbridge, he didn't have a broom to pack, which was just as well, the firebolt probably wouldn't have fit in the small bag anyway. Not to mention, a fifteen year old boy traveling around with a backpack and a broom was bound to raise some eyebrows. No, all he had to do was make it outside and onto the Night Bus. Then he could hide out until his birthday, when he would be able to use magic freely. Simple, foolproof, and much easier said than done.

First things first, Harry thought, setting himself mentally back on track. The sun was just beginning to crest over the horizon, the clock at his bedside reading 6:37am. Vernon would be up soon. If he hurried, Harry hoped, he should be able to get on the Night Bus before the monster woke. Originally, Harry had steeled himself up for another day and night of abuse at the hands of his Uncle, but Hedwig's flying had been so swift that maybe, just maybe, he'd be able to slip out a little sooner. After all, if there was any chance that Harry wouldn't have to face his Uncle's wrath again, he was all too happy to take it.

"Quick girl," Harry whispered hurriedly to his faithful friend. "You've got to go to Hermione, okay? She'll take good care of you until I find you again, alright?" It hurt him, but Harry knew there was no way he would be able to take care of an owl while he was on the run. Not to mention, his beautiful snowy owl was a bit of a rarity, even among the various breeds of owls used by the wizarding world.

"And you can't come find me girl. No, no. Don't do that." Harry put out his hand to deter Hedwig's beak from nipping at his nose. "I'll come find you girl, I promise. But you need to go to Hermione." The owl stood there for a moment, staring at Harry closely, before suddenly fluttering to the window and into the skies outside. He'd get her back someday, he promised himself. But right now, he needed to get away.

Harry was brought back to himself by a loud beeping noise coming from down the hallway. "Bloody hell," he cursed to himself, the sound of his aunt and uncle's alarm being all too familiar to him. In fact, he couldn't recall ever spending a morning at the Dursley's when that wretched beeping didn't fill him with despair, and lately, dread.

Springing to action, Harry snatched the knapsack from his bed, kicking the loose floorboard back into place. He wasn't spending another night here, no matter what his uncle did or said. It took him mere seconds to dash across his room and down the hall. By this point he wasn't even bothering to dance across the creaky floorboards. Perhaps, Vernon would still be groggy. Perhaps Petunia wasn't already up to watch Harry make breakfast. Maybe, just maybe, Harry was going to be lucky for once in his life.

"Boy! Stop that racket!" Came another familiar sound from inside the master bedroom. As Harry scrambled down the stairs his ears were greeted with a steady lumbering thump, indicating his uncle moving down the hallway behind him. "I'll beat you within an inch of your life Freak if you don't get back up here!" In his mind's eyes, he could practically see his uncle's mass gushing down the narrow corridor after him, and it was all he could do to repress a shudder at the thought.

"Why you little-!" The sound of a closet door opening and slamming. Harry didn't need to look behind him, as he ran around the corner to the stairs, to know that his uncle had acquired one Harry beating bat from the linen closet. "You've done it this time boy! I show you kindness your whole life, and you make this racket!"

Harry could feel his heart pounding in his chest, threatening to burst through his ribs as he sailed down the stairs. He hated to admit it, but his uncle scared him. At least when he was fighting Voldemort, he couldn't be expelled or put into prison for using magic. But his uncle? From what Sirius had mentioned, when he was alive, Harry knew with relative certainty that any beating from his uncle would be preferable to time in Azkaban. Though, that wasn't to say the latter was pleasant. He wanted out, and he was going to get it.

Within moments, Harry was at the bottom of the stairs. With the swift and nimble dexterity of a seeker, he slid into his shoes and grabbed a jacket, any jacket, from the hallway closet. As he drew his arm away, pace slowed by the closed door in front of him, Harry was subjected to two very familiar sensations. The cool brass knob of the front door beneath his palm was refreshing and soothing on the scabs and cuts oh his flesh. And the searing pain associated with the blunt "Harry beating" bat, as it connected firmly with his left shoulder.

Crying out in a combination of pain and surprise, Harry mentally cursed himself, falling away from his obese assailant and onto the front door. His left arm wasn't going to be moving anytime soon, the jacket he had hoped to acquire laying at his feet, now entirely unobtainable.

"What now boy?" Harry grimaced as he felt the large wooden bat connect with his shoulder again. Now that he knew it was coming, he wouldn't give his uncle the satisfaction of hearing him cry out. The only thing that would accomplish would be to drive Vernon on. Once upon a time Harry had screamed. He had screamed and shouted and cried as his uncle beat the magic out of him, hoping in vain that someone from the order would hear him and make it stop. He'd hoped word would get back to Dumbledore. Hell, he'd hoped the muggles would hear and call the police. But the muggles never called anyone, and the Order hadn't come by.

Forcing himself to stay strong, Harry used his failing body's desire to slump to the floor, to slip under the third swing from his uncle's bat. Gravity overtook him, if only for a moment, and for that brief second, when Harry let his body fall halfway to the floor, he felt relief. Though, that relief on his strained body was short lived as he forced his limbs into motion, his good right arm making quick work of the doorknob. He was so skinny, by this point in the summer, that he'd barely had to open the door to fit through, slipping from the slim crack he'd made his hell's previously impenetrable walls, he was assaulted, this time, by fresh air, the scent of early morning dew, glimmering sunlight on the horizon, and the sweet taste of hope.

Lugging his damaged arm behind him, Harry did his best not to cry out as his backpack's weight continuously fell on his shoulder. Gritting his teeth, he forced his legs to move, Vernon was coming up behind him. It was easier to outpace him now; the blubber filled man had slowed to a walk, since they were outside. In fact, glancing over his shoulder, Harry was moderately impressed with the air of normality his uncle was emitting. It wouldn't do for the neighbors to see Vernon chasing his nephew down the street with a baseball bat, Harry supposed.

"Come on now." Vernon said with a disturbing smile playing across his hog-like features. "Get back in the house boy. I've got something to give you."

Shaking his head slowly, Harry paused at the end of the curb. He wasn't entirely sure if Vernon would try something out here. At least, Harry was fairly certain that Vernon wouldn't hurt him while they were both within viewing distance of the slowing waking neighbors. "I don't think I'm going to Vernon." Harry replied. "Whatever you have to give to me, I'd rather you gave to your precious Duddykins. After all," Harry paused briefly, pulling out his wand. "You always gave him everything, didn't you Vernon?"

At the sight of the wand, Vernon drew back, placing the end of the bat on the ground, as if it were a walking stick. "Come now boy. This gift is especially for you."

Harry silently cringed in disgust at the older man, his smile beyond grotesque. A face only a mother could love indeed. Grinning at his uncle, Harry raised his wand and leveled it with Vernon's retreating face. "This, my _dear_ uncle, is the end." He took great pleasure in turning his uncle into a sniveling ball of weakness before him. The man's whispered pleas and talk of mercy were amusing to him. He took pride in his uncle's hasty retreat to the door. In crushing this man before him, causing him to spew worship onto Harry. Making him speak of praise and kindness and love to the one he hated most in the world.

Harry couldn't help himself. He laughed. He laughed and cackled and laughed some more. Was this all it really took to break his uncle? A sudden sense of finality and an unspoken threat on the street curb in the wee hours of the morning? "My only regret Vernon." Harry said suddenly, cutting off what he was sure would be another impending stream of praise from his uncle's gaping mouth. "Is that I didn't do this sooner. Good-bye Uncle. Spread my love to the family."

With that, and much to the surprise of his uncle, Harry lowered his wand and turned around to the street, where the Knight bus was waiting to take him away.

* * *

The ride on the Knight bus had been rather uneventful. Though, upon seeing his bruised and bloody state, Ernie had insisted on driving Mr. Longbottom to the nearest wizarding hospital. It wasn't an easy task, but Harry had managed to compromise with the over eccentric driver and agreed to be taken to a hospital, but it had to be small, out of the way, and definitely not St. Mungo's. The last thing he wanted at this point was for Dumbledore to come out of nowhere and drag him back to the Dursley's, or even back to the Order's Headquarters. Neither seemed very appealing. A summer of being slowly beaten to death, or being manipulated into someone's pawn. Honestly, he preferred a summer hiding out.

When the bus stopped, Harry didn't know exactly where he was, nor did he care. If he didn't even k now where he was, it would be hard as bloody hell for Dumbledore or Voldemort to get to him. At least, he hopped. The place looked fairly drab, definitely an older building. Harry figured this hospital had simply lost ministry funding and been forgotten about. There were signs of attempted upkeep everywhere. A ratty broom was sweeping up the hallways, and the wooden chairs in the waiting rooms had the flattest cushions imaginable on them. But someone was evidently trying to keep things as sharp as they once were. For a brief moment, he felt as though he were walking into the Burrow.

The feeling of being at the Burrow increased tenfold as a mediwitch came running up to him and immediately began fussing over him in a very Mrs. Weasley-manner. At least, he was certain, this witch didn't recognize him. Though, short of seeing his scar, Harry didn't know how she would. He didn't look anything like the young boy whose face had been plastered all over the Daily Prophet this past year. Sure, the Prophet had made him out to be less than sane, and succeeded in sullying his name for a time, but they had never been able to make him look physically beaten and defeated. In fact, the worst picture they had was of Harry with some dirt on his face from the Tri-Wizard tournament.

He would have to tell these witches who he was eventually, but for now, Harry basked in his anonymity. He relished being normal. He wasn't Harry Potter, the Boy-who-lived to these mediwizards. He was just a boy who had seen too much abuse and was unable to defend himself because of laws enforced by the ministry. In fact, he was already brainstorming possible names he could use as his own, to keep Dumbledore and Voldemort from finding him. Until then, however, all inquiries as to his name would be met with a simple rocking back and forth and incoherent mumbling.

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AN: Thanks for reading everyone! This chapter still needs a little bit of editing, and I'll probably repost it soon. But I just got my internet back from moving today and I wanted to share what I have 


	3. Rearrangements

**Author's Note**: So, I played with Harry a little in this chapter. For those of you who have played _The Darkness_, I was really envisioning Jackie when I wrote this. It'll be a while before there's any quest npcs executed, but I think it wound up having a similar feel.

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Rearrangements

The mediwitches at this little hospital were more wonderful than Harry could ever have imagined. With the exception of Pomphrey and Mrs. Weasley, no one had ever doted over and taken such good care of him before. The best part about it all, was that after three days, he'd managed to keep his identity a secret. These people were fussing over him. Harry. Not The-Boy-Who-Lived or the Golden Boy. Just Harry.

Smiling to himself as he reclined back into his bed, which he found to be more comfortable than the ones in the Hogwarts infirmary, Harry ran his had, delicately, through his newly acquired long, raven black, hair. When he had arrived, the mediwitches had tried everything to get his hair clean. Alas, no amount of scourgify or cleaning potions would get the weeks of mats and caked blood from his hair. Eventually, they had resorted to a very muggle way of doing things, a sweet blonde witch handing Harry a razor and a hair growth potion.

In the lavatory that day, Harry had shaved his head bald, insisting that he do it himself. Really, he didn't want any of the witches to see his scar, but they were content enough to let him remove his hair by himself. Harry imagined, that if he didn't have the hair growth formula, it would have been a moderately emotional experience. But that was not the case, and less than an hour later Harry was running his hands trough elbow length raven tresses that he simply couldn't get enough of.

His time at the medicenter came with a few additional perks that he hadn't been expecting. Harry had been originally planning on slipping off to a muggle optometrist to get a new pair of glasses. He was pleased to find out that the witches here were more than capable of restoring his sight to him with potion and a few advanced healing spells. Why no one had mentioned this option to him when he first entered the wizarding world, Harry would never know. Though, perhaps it had to do with his hatred of a certain potions master. Though, Hermione should have known about it. Why wouldn't she have mentioned it?

Quickly, Harry diverted his train of thoughts. Thinking about Hermione and the rest of Dumbledore's gang wasn't going to accomplish anything right now. Rather, he needed to start making himself a plan for what he was going to do after leaving the care of the Medicenter. As nice as it was here, Harry recognized that he wasn't going to stay here forever. It was impractical. Not to mention, the staff here were going to start finding it suspicious when Harry still couldn't 'remember' his name. No, as much as he was enjoying his time here, and the little pecan tarts they served with breakfast, Harry couldn't stay.

It was moderately upsetting to him, and he didn't have anything in terms of positive motivation for leaving this place. For one of the first times in his life he was just Harry. He just couldn't get over how amazing it was to have people treating him nicely without knowing who he is. Harry knew he wasn't going to be in that situation again for a very long time after he left.

So, three days after the mysterious raven haired boy's arrival, the sweet blonde mediwitch came to work one morning to find his bed empty, save for a small piece of parchment rested neatly atop the made sheets.

_To Everyone,_

_Thank you for treating me with such kindness during my stay. Truly, it pains me to leave such a great group of witches and wizards. However, I am needed elsewhere, as much as this disappoints me. Hopefully we will all meet again under more pleasant circumstances. _

_Best Wishes._

_PS. I hope the few galleons I've enclosed can cover a portion of my bill. I will be sure that you receive the rest of the money as promptly as possible._

* * *

Mid afternoon found Harry Potter walking down the street in muggle London, wearing new jeans and a nicely fitting T-shirt. He hadn't wanted to spend too much time shopping, not to mention that he didn't have much money on him. The jeans and shirt he'd found had been on a sale rack at a Walmart he happened to pass by. Which was just as well, his old clothing had definitely left something to be desired. His old pants had been salvageable, but as for his shirt, well, his slightly modified hospital gown was getting him a few stares. He wouldn't be setting a fashion trend any time soon.

He thought that he looked pretty good, all things considered. This was definitely an improvement over Dudley's oversized and threadbare hand-me-downs. Sometimes Harry thought that Dudley would intentionally wear through his clothes when he knew he was growing out of them, just so Harry would be stuck with something that was falling apart. Well, at least he didn't have to worry about that anymore.

While he was in Muggle London, Harry made a point of grabbing a random bottle of hair-gel. While he was sitting in the hospital, he'd realized that there was no way to avoid it. He would have to visit Diagon Alley if he wanted to get a hold of some money. For a brief moment, he had considered taking up a muggle job for a small wage over the summer. That way, he wouldn't have to face the wizarding world. But that was impractical. He wouldn't have enough money to live anywhere, and he didn't have a Social Insurance Number – the Dursleys never saw to getting him one. So, Gringotts it is. The Hair-gel was an important part of his plan to infiltrate Diagon Alley, however. If the wind were to blow and his scar to be revealed, Dumbledore and Voldemort would be on him in an instant. So, in the loo of a random coffee shop, Harry Potter went to work styling his hair for the first time in his life.

He had been pleased to find that the added weight of extra hair made his locks tamable for once. In a few more days, on his 16th birthday, he'd finally be able to use magic. One of the first things he had wanted to do was fix his old hair, but that wasn't an issue anymore. Though, it would be nice to be able to style it without any sticky muggle hair products, he supposed.

In his head, Harry was mulling over hair charms that he could place on him self as he made his way down the streets of London to Diagon Alley. Perhaps a charm to keep it from being blown too much in the wind, or maybe he could change the color? He wouldn't want to be a red head like a Weasley, or a blonde like the Malfoy's. Perhaps he'd make his hair darker, in honor of Sirius. That was an option at least. Black was one of the only family names he respected these days, as long as he could disassociate Belatrix that is.

Cursing softly, for reminding himself of that bitch, Harry was pleasantly surprised to look up and see the Leaky Cauldron just across the street. He honestly was not looking forward to going into Diagon Alley, lest he be spotted for who he is, but really, there was no other way around it. Not only did he need money, but he needed another broom, to get around on, and another owl, for delivering letters anonymously. As much as he loved Hedwig, snowy owls were rare, even among wizards, and everyone knew that she was Harry Potter's owl. He couldn't very well use Hedwig to deliver death threats to Dumbledore up at the head table. Not that he planned to, yet. But it was better to be safe than sorry. Besides, Hedwig could use a feathered friend.

Resigned to his fate, Harry quietly slipped into the Leaky Cauldron. As he'd hoped, Tom, the owner, didn't recognize him, only greeting him with a slight nod. Things were looking up so far. No one else in the place even bothered to glance in his direction. "Well," Harry muttered to himself "one obstacle down." Things went very smoothly for him. Much more-so than he had thought. Apparently no one recognized him without his trademark glasses and hideous hairstyle. "Maybe Clark Kent is onto something." He mused.

His jaunt down Diagon Alley was rather uneventful, despite it being mid afternoon and the Alley crammed full of witches and wizards, Harry made it to Gringotts with no interruptions. Though, Harry had to admit to himself, that some small part of him did want to be recognized and intercepted. There were a few people he would have liked to see. Neville has always stood by him, even Luna has been wonderful, albeit crazy, in the past. Hermione is someone else he wanted to see. Sure, she hadn't sent him any letter, that he knew of, during the summer, and she was pretty loyal to Dumbledore, but she was muggle raised, like him. There were just some things that none of their other friends understood. It was almost like belonging to a secret society that no one else could hope to comprehend.

Though, it was probably for the best that he didn't run into anyone. For now, he needed to hide, and find foolproof ways of being sure that his friends wouldn't turn him over to Dumbledore. As it stood, he didn't even have a place to stay the night, never mind advanced magic to ensure loyalty. So, without further hesitation, Harry strode purposefully into Gringotts bank.

Unlike his first time here, no one looked up to see who the young man was that had just walked in. No one stared, no one pointed and exclaimed his mane. There were no hushed whispers floating around the witches and wizards who had gathered to take care of their financial obligations. Rather, no one could have cared less. A few people looked at his muggle clothing, likely purebloods that haven't seen proper muggle attire, but other wise, he was anonymous.

Giving the room a quick once over, Harry marched up to an available goblin teller, picking one situated away from the door and as far from the people milling around as possible.

"Name." the goblin didn't even bother to look at Harry, quite intent of writing something down on the parchment beside him.

Not wanting to be overheard, Harry leaned forward as casually as possible mentally willing for everyone to be preoccupied as he said, in a hushed voice "Harry Potter."

The goblin raised an eyebrow at him, nodding his head as he set down his quill, finally giving the wizard his full attention. "Of course you are." The goblin glanced around the room, before nodding again. "You have your key I presume." Not a question, but Harry imagined that these goblins must deal with countless people, like the Malfoys or the Fudges who would insist on being let into their vaults on reputation alone.

"Yes sir. Of course."

"Right. This way then." Harry practically had to run after the goblin as he took off at an overly brisk pace through the maze that was the halls of Gringotts. They went down a corridor, took a left, a sudden right, passed three doors, took another right, and Harry stopped trying to remember the way they had took. With a maze like this, someone was definitely going to be showing him out.

"Here we are Mr. Potter." The anonymous Goblin said, stopping abruptly in front of a large office door. At least, Harry assumed it was an office, from his experience in the magical world, one shouldn't make assumptions about seemingly normal objects. Like doors, for example.

"Excuse me, Sir." Harry said, staring at the large door in front of him. "I was under the impression we were going to my vault, and I realize it's been a while since I was here, and things may have changed, but is this the right way?" If there was one thing Harry was learning not to like in the wizarding world, it was surprises.

"Of course not Mr. Potter. You will be directed to your vaults by Mr. Firmbolt after the will reading. "

"Vaults? Will reading?"

"Yes Mr. Potter, the will reading of Sirius Black is to take place today, now as a matter of fact, as detailed in the letter we sent you."

Harry fought to hold back a gasp. Sirius had a will? Of course he had a will! But why hadn't Harry heard of this. He knew that Vernon had be doing everything in his power to keep Harry disconnected from the wizarding world, but even Hogwarts had managed to let him receive imperative letters. Surely Gringotts could do the same thing. "My apologies Sir." Harry said politely. "I've been so worried over the upcoming war that I thought the date was for next week. Regardless, it's fortunate that I'm here. I would have been devastated to miss the will reading of my Godfather."

The goblin nodded. "Yes of course, these things happen Mr. Potter." With a brief nod, the goblin took off down the maze of corridors in the direction, Harry could only assume, of the way out.

* * *

**AN:** Alright, so most of the prerequisite stuff is out of the way now. The next chapter is going to have Sirius' will reading, and the introduction of a few more characters so you aren't all bored to death with Harry's internal dialogue. The next chapter should also be a bit longer. My muse came and beat me over the head as I slept last night. So… Awesomeness incoming!

Thank you to everyone who's added this story to your watch list. It's really a huge boot of confidence. And even bigger thank yous to my lovely reviewers. There aren't many of you, but I appreciate every word!


	4. Relationships

AN: So, it would seem like my ISP sucks nuts and has prevented me from doing any uploading, or even fan fic reading in general. sad panda So, I got my internet back and uploaded this at the very first chance I had. So, once again, no beta reader. Accepting all volunteers! You'll get your name in a purdy italic font at the beginning of very chapter! Awesome, no?

Relationships

"Unless you are hard of hearing Mr. Potter, I don't believe my repeating it a fourth time will be of any use to you." The goblin named Firmbolt replied, shuffling some papers around behind his desk. Clearly, he'd been having a long day, and dealing with exasperated young wizards who couldn't tell up from down wasn't helping any.

"Sorry Sir." Harry replied, taking in a deep breath. He closed his eyes briefly, willing himself to calm down, and desperately drying to make all of the information he'd received sink in. "Honestly, my greatest apologies. This news is, well, life changing for me, and is quite the shock."

The goblin nodded curtly in his direction. "Look Mr. Potter." He began, not looking thrilled in the least as he filed away the Black paperwork, magically creating an additional copy for Harry to take with him. "My associate tells me you had no intentions of coming to this will reading. Should I make the necessary arrangements for your inheritance to be passed on to next of kin? Or, in this case, family friend Remus Lupin?"

"No!" Harry exclaimed, barely forcing himself to remain in his seat. "I mean," another deep breath "I'm very proud to have been chosen by my godfather to have all of this entrusted to me." Calming down a little bit more, Harry shook his head, bringing his thoughts away from his massive inheritance and back to the situation at hand. "Mr. Firmbolt, Sir."

"Yes?"

"Well, you see." He really didn't know where to begin. "First of all, is 'sir' the right title for you? I'm ashamed to admit, I don't know nearly as much as I should about goblins, and I'm feeling like a big enough idiot already without making mistakes in etiquette."

The goblin glanced up at him, what Harry assumed was shock, played over Firmbolt's features. "No, actually. We refer to others, informally, as 'Grand', as opposed to mister. Though, I do understand the relevance of your wizarding term 'sir' and it is sufficient."

"Alright, thank you Grand Firmbolt." Now it was Harry's turn to nod as he straightened himself up in his chair. While he may have never been very good at dealing with people professionally, mostly because he'd never had a chance, he desperately wanted to appeal to the goblins of Gringotts. He needed them to find out what was happening to his Gringotts mail. Not to mention, being on bad terms with the people in charge of one's finances wasn't a good idea.

"Sir, I haven't received any of my letters from Gringotts this year. Or ever, for that matter." Harry began, obviously taking the time to select his words carefully. "I have my suspicions as to why this may have happened, and unfortunately, none of them are very pleasant. I don't believe Gringotts is responsible in any way for this to have occurred, but I was wondering if you could share with me you policies and records, should you have any, regarding the bank's contact with me."

Harry looked proud of himself, as he finished his little speech. He didn't think he said anything that could be taken offensively. Goblin wizard relations weren't exactly as friendly as one would think right now. With that in mind, not stepping on this goblin's toes, any more than he already had, was important to Harry. Constantly, throughout his life people had treated him poorly because of someone else's actions. Snape hated him because of his father, Petunia hated him because of some grief with his mother, Dumbledore, and the entire wizarding world, treated him differently because of Voldemort. Harry decided, while he was laying in his hospital bed, that people were going to treat him how he deserved to be because of something he did or did not do. Not because he has his mother's eyes, or was given a gaudy nickname by the media.

"Yes, this is quite concerning Mr. Potter." Firmbolt replied, summoning a small stack of papers over to him, from Merlin knows where, with a flick of his hand. The wandless magic didn't go unnoticed by Harry, and he made a mental note to read up on how goblins cast spells.

"Your bank statements have been going somewhere, and if not to you, this is most concerning indeed."

"I apologize Grand Firmbolt, but, bank statements?" Harry asked, perplexed.

"Well yes, of course. You're signed up to receive a statement on the first of every second month. Normally, we issue a statement monthly, even weekly should it be requested of us, however, for simply monitoring your vaults, with so little activity, this type of plan is fairly common."

Harry paused for a moment, before speaking again. "I'm sorry Grand Firmbolt, Sir. But did you say vaults?"

The goblin nodded, shuffling through the stack of papers he had summoned. It took him a moment, but eventually, he found what he was looking for. "Ah, yes." Firmbolt glanced quickly over the paper he found before setting it down on the desk, oriented for Harry to read it. "You see here," the goblin continued "you have three vaults in total. This one," He pointed to the first vault on the list, with a moderate amount of money on it. "is your trust fund. This has always been in your name, and was likely created by your parents when you were an infant. It's a very common thing for parents to do. Set aside some money to pay for Hogwarts fees and living expenses. Your school fees have been automatically withdrawn every year."

"School fees?"

"Well of course. Quidditch fees, enrollment fees, charges for school food and class materials. Attending the best wizarding school in Britain is not cheap Mr. Potter."

Harry thought about that for a moment. Sure, it made sense. In fact, now that he was thinking about it, he felt like an idiot for not having realized it sooner. Of course Hogwarts wouldn't just be free. This certainly explained the Weasleys then. Arthur made good money, but the Weasleys never seemed to have much of their own. He could see Molly and Arthur insisting upon their children's education above all else.

"Yes, that makes sense. Sorry for interrupting you. Please continue."

"Alright then, here we have what was once your parent's vault." Harry nodded and then gasped as he saw the amazing number of galleons sitting beside the vault number. "Yes Mr. Potter. Your parents were quite wealthy. Having all of their funds sitting, untouched, with interest rates like theirs, for so many years has made you a very wealthy man."

Harry found that he could only nod in response. He was, in fact, far better off than he had ever realized. Ron was going to kill him over this.

"As for this vault," Firmbolt continued his way down the list, "This has been in the Potter family for centuries. I'm not entirely sure of the contents myself, but I can give you a report of the inventory from the last time the vault was accessed, approximately, 17 years ago."

Harry nodded. "Yes please, I would appreciate that very much."

Firmbolt shuffled through yet another stack of papers, where did they keep coming from, and handed Harry a standard sized piece of parchment with a long list of items on it. The first two things that caught his eye, however, were 4th and 7th on the list. "Deed to Potter Manor and 41 Godric's Hollow?"

Firmbolt bit back a sigh. This young man was greatly annoying him with his lack of knowledge of his own things. However, Harry Potter was proving himself to be a very polite person, something Firmbolt didn't see in wizards these days. The least he could do was return the courtesy of politeness. Besides, someone was obviously wronging this boy. How Harry Potter managed to live in the wizarding world for the past six years, without knowing anything of his parent's possessions, was screaming foul play. Firmbolt was not about to let Gringotts be bested by whomever was behind this.

"Yes, the deeds to your parent's manor and their home in town. As well, I believe they had a small muggle flat," he lifted himself up in his chair, attempting to read the upside down parchment. "Yes, right there, number 43. One of the newer items that one."

Harry smiled softly. "Mum and Dad must have got it." He mused out loud. "She was muggleborn and probably wanted to live among them sometimes. I don't expect Dad would have fit in very well."

For the first time since Harry had entered his office, Firmbolt allowed himself to smile. "That very well could be Mr. Potter. It very well could."

More than three hours and far too much paperwork later, Harry strode out of Gringotts. With his wallet full, his affairs sorted out, and more legal documents and money than he knew what to do with, Harry was off to find a place to stay.

It turned out that Sirius was just as well off as his parents. While some of his fortune had been given to Remus, which included Grimmauld Place, Harry found him self to be in possession of yet another large amount of money. Being in prison for so many years allowed Sirius to accumulate a large amount of interest on his unused vaults. With no cost of living, he had acquired a small fortune.

The only thing left that was weighing on Harry's mind, about the whole situation, were his bank statements. Where were they going? And who withheld Sirius' will reading from him? Unfortunately, these questions were going to have to wait for later, Harry needed to master a couple more spells before he felt truly comfortable uncovering this person's identity. And new spells meant a trip to Flourish and Botts.

A much as Harry normally hated coming to Flourish and Botts, he had to admit, he rather liked the place. If he could simply read and retain all the knowledge that was recorded within these books, he would be a force to be reckoned with. However, trips to Flourish and Botts usually meant summer homework, something he was always more than happy to procrastinate on. This time, his trip to the quaint little bookstore was made of his own accord, intending to stock up his personal stores.

Harry chuckled softly to himself as he pushed open the bookstore's heavy door, and made his way into their practical use section. For a moment, he wondered what the store keeper would do if he were to walk up to them and simply ask for "How to Beat a Dark Lord in 10 Easy Steps." For all Harry new, a book by that name probably did exist, and was being concealed from him in Dumbledore's office.

"He'll love this one don't you think?" Harry paused. There was something terribly familiar about that voice. He just couldn't quite place it.

"Oh, come off it. You get him a ruddy book every year. Just grab one off the shelf and send it to him. He probably doesn't even read them anyways."

Harry had to work hard not to look stunned as he walked around the corner. As he was beginning to suspect an attractive witch with large bushy hair and a tall red headed wizard stood there before him. Ron didn't look like he was happy to be in a bookstore at all. He had a couple of textbooks from the store's used section tucked under his arm and didn't appear to want to linger any longer. Hermione, on the other hand, had a small stack of books floating in the air beside her covering a variety of different subjects. Harry didn't recognize any of the school texts in her stack; she probably collected them earlier in the summer and was already finished with her summer assignments, as well as a few for extra credit.

"Ronald!" Hermione gently smacked Ron on the shoulder with the spine of the book she was currently holding. "I'm sure he appreciated them very much. Besides, he could use one of these advanced defence books. I mean, if he's going to keep the DA going this year he's going to need some new material. And of course, let's not forget that Voldemort isn't exactly his best friend."

"Hermione!"

"It's just a name Ron. The sooner we start getting over that, the sooner we can have a hope of defeating him."

Ron glanced around, his eyes passing over Harry and quickly disregarding him. "Someone might have heard. Like… that guy over there!" The red head stammered in a loud whisper to his friend. "What if, what if he's a death eater! He certainly looks it!"

"Oh shut up Ron." Harry heard the tell-tale sound of another book colliding with Ron's arm. "You're so immature sometimes."

At this point, Harry turned his back to his friends, not wanting them to recognize him just yet. Grabbing a book from the shelf, he began to do some browsing, noting that he was in a transfiguration section. While he was alright at transfiguration, it was never is favorite subject, mostly due to its lack of battlefield application. Then again, imposter Moody did manage to turn Draco into a ferret. While Harry figured that it was highly unlikely he would be able to turn Voldemort into a ferret, perhaps it would still be something worth looking into. At the very least, he would have some nifty parlor tricks to amuse his friends with.

Right, his friends. Harry really didn't know what he wanted to do about them. He didn't want them to go running back to Dumbledore with his whereabouts, but he didn't know where they stood. Not for the first time, Harry cursed his inability to use Legilimency. While prying into the thoughts of his best friends wasn't something he wanted to do, he really wished he could know how they would react to seeing him now.

"I'm just going to get him both." Hermione said after a short period of silence, snapping Harry from his thoughts.

"Finally! Praise Merlin! Hermione made up her mind!"

"Ron!"

"What? We've been here for at least an hour, while I've been watching you dote over books for Harry that he's never going to read anyways."

"Well, what are you getting him this year?"

"Nothing."

"What?"

"You heard me. Nothing. I don't see why I should be getting him anything. The guy has enough fame and wealth to get whatever he wants. So, why should I bother? Now that Snuffles is dead you'd think everyone will be doting over him all the time. Why does he need more useless crap from me? Or from you for that matter?" At that point, Harry could easily hear heavy footsteps briskly moving away from him and back towards the front of the store.

There was a moment of strained silence then, Hermione left standing by herself in the back of the bookstore, her presents for Harry tucked securely in her arms. "Because he's your friend Ron." Harry could barely make out Hermionie's faint whispering as she muttered to herself between re-levitating her stack of books. "Because he's our friend."


	5. Unwind

The sway of money was astonishing to Harry

**Disclaimer:** I'm just having my wicked way with JK Rowling's characters and setting. If you've seen it before, then it's not mine. And I'm not making any money off of this… looks like more ramen noodles for dinner tonight.

**Author's Note**: I apologise, this chapter's a little boring. But there's fun and excitement ahead! Just you see!

Unwind

The sway of money was astonishing to Harry. Sure, he knew that people liked money, he did share a house with Vernon Dursley for the first 15 years of his life. Money was a force to be reckoned with. With a few extra notes, a nearly 16 year old boy could walk into a high end hotel, in the middle of downtown London, and be promptly shown to a glamorous suite, usually reserved for the more distinguished members of society. A side story, about a rich father who's meeting him in town when he finishes his business in Tokyo, helped sway the front clerk to his cause as well. It was amusing really, that in the wizarding world he was a hero, a saviour, and soon to be an adult. Yet, in the muggle world, he needed a rich father and a sizeable bribe to stay in a hotel.

The room was nice, obviously. He needed it to be comfortable enough to stay in long term. Granted, after living in a cupboard for so many years, Harry wasn't a hard man to impress. However, he wasn't about to be stingy on his summer home. The suite had to be large enough for him to spend the next month in, and hold all of his impending purchases comfortably. His old cupboard couldn't even hold him comfortably. Never mind any shopping.

So, Harry acquired one muggle hotel suite. He had a private balcony (that he never planned to use), a living room, small kitchen with microwave and mini-fridge. He also had a nice bedroom, complete with cable and a remote that he would be aloud to use, but the most important part to Harry, was the bathroom.

The bathroom wasn't anything fancy. It was nice, for a hotel bathroom, but it wasn't terribly out of the ordinary. It had the standard white hotel towels that smell kind of funny even though you know they're clean and are still scratchier than the ones you have at home. The facilities were done in white as well, but it was that slightly tinged yellow type of white that you only find in hotel rooms and Grandma's house. Not that Harry had ever been to Grandma's house, but that's how he had heard it described. Thankfully, the tub was lacking the little grips on the tub floor. Petunia had insisted on getting some after Dudley tripped on the shower curtain, as if they would help, but baths hadn't been the same since.

Harry was elated at the sight of his little bathroom. Sure, it wasn't extravagant, nothing like the bathrooms at Hogwarts, but this was his bathroom. He was going to spend an hour in here if he felt like it. Hell, he could spend the next three days in here if he felt like it, and no one was going to stop him. No sneaking back to his room with the sound of the alarm clock, no cleaning up his mess with a single square of toilet paper, and no fear of the running water waking the household . It was glorious.

Harry was in a pretty good mood, all things considered, as he ran himself a bath. Thinking about it, Harry realised that he had been without the luxury of a bath since he was fumbling over that tri-wizard egg in his fourth year. Not that a bath with Moaning Myrtle was the epitome of relaxation, but a bath's a bath. Besides, the magnificence of the prefect's bathroom was almost enough to make up for the awkward discomfort one feels when sharing a tub, naked, with an overly emotional, female, teenaged ghost.

Filling this tub was much simpler than the Prefect's bath. With only one faucet that produced regular water of the desired temperature, Harry couldn't help but smile at the simplicity. Muggles were, in comparison to wizards, lacking a lot of flair. Though, while scented bubbles and colored water may have a certain amount of style, the muggle way was far more practical. Primitive, but effective.

That last thought elicited a shiver from his body. Harry had always thought Vernon to resemble a primitive caveman when he was 'fixing' him. Hunched over his bat and wielding it in his ungloved hand, he looked like a wild beast bent over his prey. Try as he might, Harry didn't think those memories of his 'loving' family, would ever leave him. Perhaps it was time to invest in a pensive. However, he didn't really want those memories to leave him. They made him the man he was today. Even if Dumbledore was behind it all, somehow, his past was still his past.

Now he just had to make sense of it all. And for the first time, milling his thoughts around in his head, he felt completely isolated in his musings. Ron was already against him, and from what he was saying today, Harry doubted that his red headed friend even knew that he was missing. Though, judging from Ron's general reaction to Harry and his upcoming birthday, the Weasley would probably be relieved to find out that Harry was gone. If only because Ron wouldn't need to buy him a present.

Hermione, on the other hand, would probably be horribly worried for him. At least, she would be at first. Knowing her, the bright witch would look at the situation from every possible angle before settling down on the couple that are the most likely. Harry could only hope that needing to get away from his relatives would appear at the top of her list. Whereas he was certain "ran off to join Dark Lord and get more press coverage" was on Ron's list of most likely.

However, now wasn't the time to speculate on Ron's disloyalty. That would only ruin his mood, and negate the wonderful relaxing effect that this hot bath was having on his stiff muscles. Despite the days spent in the medicenter, and the skilful spells the witches cast upon him there, he was still stiff. Some of his larger wounds still weren't completely healed, large scars adorning his forearms and chest. His legs were relatively okay though, in comparison to the rest of him. Apparently Vernon wanted him able to walk so he could come when called. Heaven forbid that he would go to Harry when he wanted to beat him.

But for now, Harry had other things on his mind, like whether or not Dumbledore was telling people he was missing. That thought was quickly silenced though, there were no papers with his name on them today while he was in Diagon Alley. Which was probably for the best. Harry's biggest concern, however, was what to do with himself now that he was free from his relative's. There were a couple things he knew for sure. The first and foremost was that he needed to figure out what was going on in Dumbledore's head. The second was that whatever happens, life is always easier with the support of the masses. It had been near impossible to even walk down the street when the public had thought he was insane and envisioning Voldemort's return. The last thing he wanted was to come away from whatever war would ensue and be thrown into Azkaban on a whim.

So, returning to Hogwarts was a must. He wanted to see his friends again anyways, just thinking about them brought a smile to his face. He was really looking forward to seeing Neville again, of all people. In the DA he had made an enormous amount of progress in such a short period of time during the end of year. Harry couldn't help but be curious as to what Neville may have accomplished during the summer. His classmate went from unable to disarm his opponent to holding his own against Death Eaters in a matter of weeks. Harry's intrigue was not misplaced.

He also wanted to see Hermione. His beautiful, wonderful, and brilliant Hermione. As he was certain she was mulling over Harry's situation, he was more than confident that she could help him puzzle out Dumbledore. At least, he would ask her, as soon as he was more than positive that she wouldn't go to the Headmaster and present Harry's misgivings to him. Harry sighed softly and reclined further into the tub. Yet another task piled on top of his list of things to do.

Most importantly, he had decided earlier, was to brush up on his magic. His hexing skills may have been adequate for a teenager's school competition, but they were no match for Voldemort, and he knew it. Thus far he had been winning on luck alone. It would be such a wonderful feeling to walk into battle with the self proclaimed Dark Lord and not be afraid of him for once. That was going to require some work.

No time like the present.

Holding back a groan, Harry pulled himself from the relaxing tub, wincing as his muscles screamed at him in protest. "No, definitely not one hundred percent yet." He mused aloud. "And talking to myself seems a lot less crazy when Hedwig's here." Harry furrowed his brow. His body was making it very clear to him that moving wasn't on its list of things to do. Unfortunately, spending the night naked in a cooling bathtub wasn't practical, so some moving would have to be done. "Ugh. Going to have to do some stretches in the morning."

Flinging his hair over his shoulder, he fumbled at the towel rack, grabbing one and patting his hair dry. The new hair made him feel nice. Different. It was something for the new Harry Potter. The old Harry had a mess of a mop on his head that would never do what he wanted. This Harry had exactly the hair he wanted, and it wasn't caked to his scalp in a matted mess with his own blood. That was always a plus.

The new hair made him look like a different man. Straitening up, and ignoring his protesting joints, he took a look at himself in the mirror. Harry realised, as he looked over his naked form in the mirror, that he hadn't seen himself since the mediwitches cleaned him up, at least, he wasn't previously given the chance to assess himself in a mirror. Sure, he'd managed to catch a glimpse or two as a he was helped to and from his chair in the medicenter shower, but pausing to look himself over was another thing he was denied the luxury of doing.

Frankly, he was shocked at what he saw. Sure, he wasn't in the best of shape physically. He needed to beef up a bit, after months of malnourishment he was pleasantly surprised to see that he had retained some of his muscle mass that he had built up over the years training as a seeker. Not to mention, training to defeat Voldemort. Some of those DA meetings were down right exhausting.

Even his scars and bruises didn't bother him to see. He knew in his heart, when he stumbled into the medicenter days ago, that he wasn't going to be walking away from this scar less. Magic is phenomenal, but not perfect. Sure, there was probably some spell to get rid of the angry marks that had scarred over before he made his escape, but he was alright with them. He was supposed to be the wizarding world's hero after all. And what war hero came away with no scars? He was willing to bet that even Voldemort had some. Perhaps not on his new restored body, but like himself, Tom Riddle probably hid from the other boys in the showers, changed behind curtains, and made sure not to expose the signs of a less than perfect home life to his peers.

Harry could empathise with that. Actually, he could empathise a lot with Voldemort. That's not to say that he approved of the man's methods or the way he conducts himself, but he could understand. Honestly, Harry had to admit to himself, the only reason he still liked muggles was because he felt like he would be walking into the palm of Dumbledore's hand if he were to cave to his distaste. He and Voldemort were so similar, it was becoming hard for Harry to ignore their similarities. Sometimes he wondered if Voldemort ever thought the same.

Both of them lived in abusive homes when they weren't at Hogwarts for one, Harry mused, running his finger tips across a particularly angry looking scar on his chest. And both of them were sent back to these homes by Dumbledore. Perhaps Dumbledore had something to do with Voldemort's orphanage placement too, Harry couldn't be sure. But the old man definitely had a hand to play in Harry's residence as the Dursely's.

Both he and Voldemort could speak parceltongue, however, Harry wasn't sure if that counted. Dumbledore told him that he was gifted with parceltongue with Voldemort struck him with Avada Kedavra, but coming from Dumbledore, Harry didn't know if he should believe that anymore. Would it be such a bad thing if he was a parceltongue by his own power? He wouldn't be surprised if one of his parents had simply hid the ability from prying eyes do to Slytherin preconceptions. That was definitely something worth looking up. Perhaps something in his family vault could help him out, if it was passed from the Potter side of things at least.

Parceltongue aside, he needed to get into the vault sometime soon. He would likely be able to find a few answers there.

"Well, I guess that's for tomorrow." He mused aloud again, instantly whipping his head around and suddenly remembering that his beloved owl wasn't with him. "Alright, I need a new owl, or a talking mirror, or something." He muttered, tossing his towel to the damp bathroom floor. "If only so I don't feel stupid talking out loud."

Wringing out his hair once more, Harry left his bathroom, and crawled into bed.


End file.
